


for rent

by ghosthunter



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Come Eating, M/M, andre has two sugar daddies, boning with a snapback on, or however many, polyam swedes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 18:58:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17792915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosthunter/pseuds/ghosthunter
Summary: In the morning, he’s still a Capital. At noon, he’s still a Capital. When he gets in the car with Nicke after practice, the deadline bearing down on him, he’s still a Capital.Just before 3PM, Nicke’s phone rings. Nicke’s phone, not Andre’s.The deadline passes, and Andre is still a Capital.





	for rent

**Author's Note:**

> i deal with anxiety by writing extreme wish fulfillment scenarios that i would drop dead if they happened. thanks to d. for beta reading. thanks to you for even clicking through this knowing what a trash bag i am.

It’s no secret that Andre is nervous about the trade deadline.

He’s on the block. Everyone’s talking about it, they’re even asking him about it. He wishes he were stronger than he is, that he could pretend that it doesn’t bother him. But it does.

He kneels on the floor in front of the couch, rests his head on Christian’s thigh. Christian plays with his hair while he watches TV. Andre breathes in and out slowly, the scent of Christian’s detergent and his body and his sweat filling Andre’s nostrils. He closes his eyes and gives himself over to that scent, the feeling of Christian’s hands, the slow drop into subspace until there’s nothing else.

In the morning, he’s still a Capital. At noon, he’s still a Capital. When he gets in the car with Nicke after practice, the deadline bearing down on him, he’s still a Capital.

Just before 3PM, Nicke’s phone rings. Nicke’s phone, not Andre’s.

The deadline passes, and Andre is still a Capital. Nicke is still a Capital.

Marcus Johansson is also a Capital.

He’s on Facetime on Nicke’s phone, but he’s mostly walking in and out of frame, his phone balanced on something as Nicke and Andre, crowded together on Nicke’s couch so that their faces are visible on Marcus’s screen, even though he’s not paying much attention to them. He’s packing, getting on a flight to DC that night, to be at morning skate before the game the next night.

“Should I have someone come pack all my shit up?” Marcus asks suddenly, appearing fully in front of the camera. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Neither of us have ever been traded before,” Andre says.

“Christ,” Nicke says. “You’re an asshole.”

“Smack his ass for me for that one,” Marcus says. “No, fuck it, I’ll do it when you pick me up from the airport.”

“He’s still not very well behaved,” Nicke says.

“I’ll sort him out,” Marcus threatens, then disappears from the screen again.

 

It’s nearly midnight when Marcus’s plane lands, and Andre is fidgeting in the passenger seat as Nicke circles the arrivals at Dulles for the third time. The flight was delayed slightly, but it’s taking forever for Marcus to get his luggage, anyway. He’s got two big suitcases, a carry on, and a garment bag when he finally emerges from the airport.

“That’s so much stuff,” Andre says as Marcus throws himself into the back seat, slamming the door behind him.

“Well Andre,” Marcus says, leaning into the front seat and kissing Nicke, who bats him away as he’s trying to pull out into traffic. “I’m packed for two months. That’s a lot of stuff.” He sits back then, buckling himself into the seat.

“I don’t get a hello kiss?” Andre asks, pouty.

“Am I riding in the back seat right now?” Marcus asks. Andre twists around to pout at him.

“Both of you stop,” Nicke says. “Andre, behave or I’m going to drop you off with Christian and keep Mackan for myself.”

“No,” Andre says. “No, he said he was going to spank me - “

“Who me?” Marcus asks, his face only illuminated by the screen of his phone as he looks through the approximately seven hundred messages he’s gotten since he turned it off when he left Newark. “I’d never.”

“You fucking - you just - you did it _over the summer_ ,” Andre says. He doesn’t notice the way Nicke is grinning as he’s driving down the road.

“No,” Marcus says. “I’m a good boy, I would never participate in such filth.”

Nicke actually snorts at that. “Nicke!” Andre protests. “Is someone going to spank me or not?”

“Not,” Marcus says, and turns off his phone’s screen so that Andre can’t see him grinning.

 

Marcus is staying with Nicke, and though neither of them expect he’ll actually stay in the guest room, that’s where he unpacks his stuff. He could get an apartment, sure, but he doesn’t feel like he’s going to be there once the season is over.

He’s trying not to think about that as he hangs his garment bag in the closet.

He’ll unpack in the morning, or whenever they get back to Nicke’s after morning skate. He doesn’t know if he’s going to play with them against Ottawa the next night - he hasn’t had a practice with them, but it’s not like he doesn’t know most of them anyway. He even knows the coach. There’s not much of a learning curve.

He kicks his shoes off and leaves them in the guest room, heading back to Nicke’s bedroom. Andre’s already sitting on the end of Nicke’s bed, naked. He has his hands tucked under his thighs, his cock already half-hard. The door of the en suite bathroom is cracked open and Marcus can hear water running in there.

“Are you waiting for Nicke?” Marcus asks him.

“He’s brushing his teeth. He told me not to move or touch myself,” Andre tells Marcus. He looks like he’s about to explode. Marcus stands there for a second, watching Andre rocking back and forth on his hands. His cock gets harder as Marcus stands there watching him.

“Nicke?” Marcus calls out, after a moment.

“Yeah?” Nicke calls back, his voice echoing from the bathroom. 

“Can I touch him?” Marcus asks. Andre makes an audible whimpering noise then, bouncing slightly on the edge of the bed.

“No,” Nicke says. That makes Andre whine. “Are you ready for bed?”

“I guess?” Marcus says.

Nicke appears in the bathroom door. “Take your clothes off,” he says.

There’s a moment of hesitation, because it’s been so long since they’ve all been in one bedroom for Nicke to give Marcus such a straightforward order. After that initial moment of hesitation, he’s stripping his shirt off and dropping his pants on the floor. When he’s naked, Nicke motions him over to the bed.

“Andre, stay there and keep your hands to yourself. If you can’t keep from touching yourself, keep sitting on your hands,” Nicke says. “Tonight’s not about you.”

Andre frowns up at Nicke, but he doesn’t move. “I’ll tell you when you can touch yourself,” Nicke says. “Mackan, on the bed, by the headboard. Make yourself comfortable.”

Marcus does as he’s told, climbing across the mattress and settling against the pillows. His skin feels hot with Nicke watching him, like he’s embarrassed for Nicke to see him naked and spread out, like Nicke hasn’t been systematically breaking him apart for most of the last decade. It’s just that this now is a homecoming, and different from when they’ve met in hotels, from when Marcus has been on a different team and distant from their relationship.

Andre is fidgeting on the end of the bed, and Nicke strips out of his underwear, climbing up to kneel between Marcus’s thighs. Nicke runs his hands down the length of Marcus’s pale thighs, his fingertips stopping when he comes across a bruise he doesn’t know.

“Blocked a shot,” Marcus says, and Nicke looks up to meet his eyes before digging his fingers into the tender place, making Marcus gasp and draw his knees together, bumping against Nicke’s hips.

“Does that hurt?” Nicke asks, knowing full well that it does from the way he’s made Marcus squirm.

“A little,” Marcus says. He knows there’s no point in lying to Nicke. Marcus is pretty good at lying, but not to Nicke.

“Do you want it to hurt more,” Nicke asks. He tilts his head slightly, and Marcus watches Nicke watching him, the way Nicke’s eyes flick across Marcus’s face.

“We have to skate tomorrow,” Marcus says.

“I won’t leave anything permanent,” Nicke says, and Marcus doesn’t trust his grin. There have been plenty of times that Marcus has walked away from Nicke’s bed with bruises and bite marks. The bite marks always sting when he starts to sweat at practice. Marcus doesn’t protest, though, because the next thing Nicke does is wrap a hand around his cock.

“Can I at least watch?” Andre asks, and somehow Marcus registers that he’s even speaking through the haze of Nicke’s hands and mouth and cock all touching him at once, and Nicke’s laugh vibrates through Marcus’s body, his teeth leaving marks on Marcus’s collarbone.

“No,” Nicke says, snapping his hips forward hard, making Marcus yelp. “You’ll get your turn.”

“My turn?” Andre asks, his voice going breathy. Somewhere near Marcus’s feet, Andre is squirming on the edge of the bed.

“Unless you don’t behave,” Nicke says, and twists his wrist as he strokes his hand down the length of Marcus’s cock, until he has Marcus coming beneath him.

He leaves Marcus breathless and boneless on the sheets, peppers soft kisses to the bite marks he’s left, every new bruise his fingertips have pressed into Marcus’s hips, and the fading bruises on Marcus’s thighs. He settles onto his side, stroking his fingers through Marcus’s hair.

“Andre,” Nicke says, and Andre startles, nearly sliding off the end of the bed. “You can jerk off now. And then you’ll clean both yourself and Marcus up afterward.”

Marcus is drifting sleepily with Nicke’s hands in his hair, Nicke’s mouth on his, well fucked and happy for the first time in months. Nicke’s still kissing him when Andre’s come splatters hot across his stomach, and Nicke doesn’t stop even as Andre starts to lick the mess away, making Marcus shiver underneath him.

For the first time in a long time, Marcus drifts off to sleep the way he likes best, with his head tucked in underneath Nicke’s chin, and Andre’s arms wrapped around him from behind.

 

Having Marcus as a Capital again is weird.

Andre is delighted, but at the same time it’s hard not to notice that Marcus’s presence makes Christian a little more prickly than usual. And Andre gets it - Christian came into the picture after Marcus left, slotted into a place that Marcus had vacated by being traded, taking up Andre’s time and all the space that he had to spare that Nicke couldn’t take or wouldn’t take.

It’s not all bad. Scoring is up, with Marcus back on Kuzy’s wing and Vrana zipping around them like he’s never played with anyone else in his life. The power play is better for having Marcus back, and all of them know it. For Andre’s part, it’s not that he’s having a breakout year, but he’s not slumping, either. Things are good. They’re going to the playoffs. They could go back to back.

And Christian is mad at him.

“I’m not mad at you,” Christian tells him. “I just don’t see how I fit, is all.”

Andre’s sitting at the bar in Christian’s kitchen, while Christian is making dinner for them. It’s not that they’re not spending time together. They’re totally spending time together. Andre climbs into bed with Christian half the nights on the road, Christian goes out to dinner with the three of them and they only speak in Swedish and Andre still picks the restaurants.

“I think you fit,” Andre says, his voice creeping toward sulky. “I’m here with you right now.”

“Aren’t they mad that you’re taking time away from them? Because you have three boyfriends?” Christian asks.

“Before Jojo left we spent time apart,” Andre says. “Sometimes Nicke wants to be alone, and he doesn’t want to be with me or Jojo. So we would go out and we would have dinner or go shopping or whatever.”

“Because he likes to dress you up,” Christian says. Andre shrugs. Marcus is more into fashion than either Nicke or Andre, and he likes to watch Andre try on clothes, to make sure he’s dressed in beautiful things.

“That’s why Marcus has his own room at Nicke’s,” Andre continues. “Because sometimes Nicke wants to be alone. He likes to sleep alone, too, you know?”

“And you don’t,” Christian says.

“No, not at all,” Andre says. “But sometimes they just want to be the two of them, because they were just the two of them before me. And then I’m left out.”

“And because you’re left out, you’re coming to me?” Christian asks, raising his eyebrows. “Because that doesn’t exactly feel good, Andre.”

“It’s not because I’m left out,” Andre says. “I don’t like being alone. I don’t want to sleep alone. I like having more people around me. I want to be here with you. I want there to be time with you and time for Nicke and time for Jojo, too.”

“And if I feel left out?” Christian asks, not quite looking at Andre.

“I don’t mean to make you,” Andre says. “I’m not used to having everyone here. I’m trying.”

Christian sighs, and Andre slides off his barstool and walks around the bar until he can wrap his arms around Christian from behind, hooking his chin over Christian’s shoulder. Christian relaxes back against Andre almost instinctively, even though it’s most often Andre melting into Christian.

“I’m not leaving you out,” Andre says to him, his voice quiet. “I want to be here with you. I like when you make dinner for us, and when you put me down, and when we go to bed. I like sleeping next to you. I’m trying to find the balance, here.”

Christian tips his head back against Andre’s shoulder. “I know,” he finally says. “I’m trying not to let it get to me.”

“Can I make it up to you?” Andre asks.

Christian pulls away from Andre, pushes him back gently, and smiles. Andre raises a hand to brush his thumb across the dimple in Christian’s cheek.

“Yeah,” Christian says. “Later.”

 

 

When the buzzer sounds, all Marcus can hear is screaming.

When his legs give out underneath him, it doesn’t matter because he’s pinned against the boards under a crush of bodies. It’s Kuzy who is the most audible, most of his weight pinning Marcus against the glass, his face the closest to Marcus’s. He can hear others, too, Vrana’s breathless swearing in Czech, and somewhere in the din of everyone’s voices swirling together, Nicke and Andre.

There are tears streaming down his face by the time the group of them begins to disperse, by the time they’re calling Ovi out to take the Cup. He grips Nicke, lowering his face down against Nicke’s shoulder. Nicke’s won before, he understands the emotion. Andre crushes Marcus’s body between them.

Nothing’s ever felt so good in his hands as the Stanley Cup.

The sun is coming up by the time they tumble into bed. There’s champagne soaked into Marcus’s shirt and Andre’s still wearing a Stanley Cup Champions snapback.

“Fuck me in it,” Andre says, sprawling out on the bed.

Marcus looks up at Nicke, who shrugs.

“How many opportunities are we gonna get for that?” Nicke asks.

Marcus laughs and tugs his shirt up over his head, and when he brings his mouth down, Andre’s skin tastes like victory.

 

 

Andre’s still drunk when he stumbles down the hallway, wearing just his snapback and his underwear to bang on Christian’s door. It takes a long time for Christian to come to the door, but Andre waits. When the door finally opens, Christian is blinking at him, confused.

“Figured you had somewhere else to be,” he says, words slurred by sleep and champagne. He’s probably still drunk, too. “Someone else to fuck.”

“I wanted to celebrate with you, too,” Andre says. And sure, he’s already come once and left Marcus and Nicke looped around each other, snoring off the alcohol. And maybe his ass cheeks slide a little weirdly as he walks, lube leftover from his first fuck of the night. But he can take more. He wants more.

“Oh yeah?” Christian asks, as Andre nudges him out of the way to come into the hotel room.

“Yeah,” Andre says, and flops down on the bed. The sheets are barely mussed, like Christian was sleeping the sleep of the dead before Andre knocked. As drunk as they all are, he probably was.

“Are you gonna take your hat off?” Christian asks him.

“Nope,” Andre says, popping the ‘p.’ He lays there for a moment, then says, “You should put yours back on.”

Christian laughs at him, but puts the hat on anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> on twitter @notedgoon probably crying about jojo non stop


End file.
